


Bear With Me

by Solemini (CyanHorne)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Background Relationships, CritRole Reverse Bang, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanHorne/pseuds/Solemini
Summary: "They’re well past due for a talk, for a laying out of intentions and boundaries, and they both know it. But it’s difficult to judge where one stands with a woman when all you truly know about her are that she’s good with a sword, is frighteningly capable for her young age, has suffered more than any fair world would allow, and is rather pointedly aware that you’re something of importance to her brother.(One of these days, they must figure out what.)"Cassandra and Vex get a moment to breathe, and Trinket makes for an excellent therapy bear. Written for the CritRole Reverse Bang 2016, baesd on and featuring art by @summonerskies





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the CritRole Reverse Bang 2016, baesd on and featuring art by the excellent @summonerskies on Tumblr. With apologies for the terrible title.

Stretch. Fly. _Thunk_. Stretch. Fly. _Thunk_.

This early in the morning and this far from the city proper, the only sound to disrupt Vex’ahlia’s bow practice comes from Trinket, who only stirs after a particularly strong shot finds his mark. Vex feels him move more than she sees him, eyes locked as they are on the distant target, but she can well imagine the hint of loving admiration in his fuzzy face even as he yawns, stretches, and scratches his back on the rough castle walls. 

She lets him settle before drawing another shot across the limb of her bow. She aims, fires, and has its replacement ready before it finds its mark upon the distant bullseye. A dozen of its fellows cluster at the same point. After years of high-stakes combat and hunting to survive, a standard archery range – even one stretched along the entire eastern wall of Whitestone Castle, pushing the limits of her sight and a longbow’s reach – is almost child’s play. But in this brief peace between disasters, Vex’ahlia finds the regular rhythm of working through entire quivers to be very nearly meditative. Particularly without the crackling boom of Fenthras or the creeping suspicion that its tendrils want to work their way into her mind.

She’s very nearly emptied her quiver when a nearby flash of deep blue catches her eye. She shifts her gaze without moving either her stance or her head and finds Cassandra watching intently, poised alongside a stone pillar as though arranged to be painted. She’s dressed all in regal de Rolo blue, with the long skirt and warm layers that are the Whitestone fashion. Her usual honor guard is nowhere to be seen.

Vex picks up the pace for the final stretch, not wanting to keep the castle’s lady waiting or risk her slipping away. She blows through the last arrows in a few seconds, completing the full crowded circle of the bullseye and splitting one, in the very center, down the middle. It earns her a short round of applause from Cassandra, who continues to hang back with the polite manners of one who knew how not to get accidentally shot.

Vex takes a few deep breaths as her muscles uncoil and carefully considers the best way to address the young woman to whom she technically owes allegiance. She finally settles on a light grin before turning to face the lady directly. “Do you de Rolos ever sleep?”

Cassandra chuckles, as though she knows that Vex’ahlia is only up this early because Percy could barely allow himself a few hours’ rest before clambering out of their bed and back into his workshop. “Not easily,” she says, and steps from the cobblestone path into the training field, skirt delicately lifted to avoid grass stains. “Are you finished?”

Vex shakes her head, slipping the empty quiver off her shoulders and selecting a full one from a nearby rack. “Just reloading. Working on the muscle memory and all.”

“I see.” Cassandra gestures to a small stone bench not far from where Trinket’s rolled over onto his back, belly stretched to welcome the warm rising sun. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Unless you’d rather participate.”

Cassandra shakes her head, settling on the bench. “I’ve never been much good with a bow, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” Vex’ahlia raises an eyebrow. “I’d have thought that to be part of your noble education.”

“It was for a while.” Cassandra’s eyes go distant, the way Percy’s sometimes do when they stumbled upon one of the few family remnants not destroyed by the Brairwoods. “But none of us took to the traditional methods. Besides, the tutor was just awful. She once caught Percy tinkering with the crossbows and took a ruler to his hands until they bled.”

Vex winces, running her thumb across a scar on her knuckles that’s started to itch in sympathy. The tutors in Syngorn never pushed that far, never gave more than a bruise, but she and Vax both had been subjected to more punishments than they cared to count.

“Mother had her dismissed after that. For the best, really. Otherwise Ludwig might’ve shot her.”

Cassandra pauses then, lips pursed, before placing fingers against her temple and shaking her head. Vex takes the opportunity to turn away, settling the quiver along her spine and returning to her practice before the awkward silence can set in.

They’re well past due for a talk, for a laying out of intentions and boundaries, and they both know it. But it’s difficult to judge where one stands with a woman when all you truly know about her are that she’s good with a sword, is frighteningly capable for her young age, has suffered more than any fair world would allow, and is rather pointedly aware that you’re of some importance to her brother.

(Percy had called her a merciless tease, once he’d finally pursued all his promised chats. Apparently, he and Vex been the subject of many a prominent city rumor, from secret marriage to expectant pregnancies, and Cassandra had tormented him with questions about every single one before finally admitting that she didn’t believe a word.

Vex hid her own amusement, but of course he knew. He always knew.)

So Vex does what she knows, what she and her brother apparently do best: she avoids the issue. Easy enough, when there’s a target to focus on and practice to indulge, but all too soon, she finds her quiver again emptied and her target again full, and no longer has any excuse not to turn back towards Cassandra.

But Cassandra isn’t watching now. She’s looking at Trinket, sprawled as he is the warm morning glow with his limbs stretched and his spine curled like he knows he’s got an audience. Cassandra’s hands, folded delicately in her lap like a proper lady’s, twitch with an unspoken mix of curiosity and nerves that Vex’ahlia recognizes on sight.

“He won’t bite, you know.”

Cassandra startles. “He won’t?”

Her voice lilts high at the end, squeaking with childish delight that surprises Vex into a laugh. She flushes, pressing her fingertips over reddening cheeks even as the excitement bubbles up to trip her tongue.

“That is…oh, bother. D-Do you think he’d mind if I…”

“Certainly not.” Vex hides the giggles behind her hand, but the smile lingers on. She’s heard the question often enough over the years to catch it, even unspoken. “Go on, dear. You’re family.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, one Vex has seen far too often from a different de Rolo at other places and times. Then, Cassandra sinks off the bench into a pillowy pile of skirts and lace and stretches her arm towards Trinket, calling to him with a whistle and a series of soft clicks.

Trinket, good boy that he is, shakes himself awake at the first call and recognizes the summons a moment later. He rolls over, looks to Vex for permission, and lumbers to his paws the moment she grants the encouraging nod.

His approach at first is too fast; it startles Cassandra and she jerks her hand back with a nervous jump. Trinket sees and slows his pace, lowering his body into the grass and crawling into arm’s reach rather than pushing.

Slowly, Cassandra reaches out again and lays those delicate, manicured fingers against his muzzle. Trinket snuffled at her palm, no doubt leaving it cold and slimy, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she shuffles her pile of skirts closer and slides the hand around the back of his head. Soon enough she’s scratching his ears, then his neck, and then a second hand joins in. Trinket chuffs at the attention and nuzzles close, sniffing her clothes and neck and her white-streaked hair, pressing his nose to her pulse-point to get past her perfume and familiarize himself with the natural scent underneath.

And Cassandra, Cassandra _laughs_ , the weight of loss and responsibility and her long years alone falling away.

Vex, keeping her distance, feels her heart clench. It’s so easy to forget sometimes, the way it is with Percy, that this, this powerful lady of the castle, is only a girl. A girl of standing, of power and wealth, yes. A girl raised to lead, but still _just_ a girl, barely of age. This is perhaps the first time she’s really looked the part since they met.

“This is _amazing_ ,” says Cassandra, giggling even as Trinket steals a big lick up the side of her face. Cass cringes from the affection with a shriek of undisguised delight. She holds him at bay with an outstretched elbow and rubs at the sides of his face with her hands/ “Such a handsome boy! And so big and warm and soft, _oh_ …”

She catches Vex’s eye and seems to realize how she’s behaving. She blushes with her entire face and neck, shifting to sit more delicately with a ramrod-straight back, though she never takes her hands from Trinket’s fur.

“Mother would never have allowed this,” she says softly, by way of explanation. “Not just for the obvious reasons. Cavorting with animals, anything more than the horses or birds…it wouldn’t be proper.”

Vex nods. How many times had she heard the same, in Syngorn? Even surrounded by nature in the elven capitol, even with a guard of rangers and wardens who knew the woods as well as the streets, it would never do for a _lady_ to associate with beasts. And if that’s the excuse Cassandra needs…well. Who is she to spoil the game?

She lets her bow and quiver fall to one side and crosses to kneel on Trinket’s opposite side. Her bear is now the happiest in the world, content to let his tongue loll while he’s showered with attention.

“Nobody can be proper all the time,” says Vex, scratching him in his favorite spot right behind the ear. “We all need a bit of this, every now and again. Even your brother.”

Cassandra snorts at that, raising an eyebrow. Vex grins.

“Oh yes. Percy thinks I don’t know, but he talks to Trinket all the time.” She leans in, scratching all the way around Trinket’s jaw and down his neck and back, just the way he likes it. “Because he knows that Trinket keeps good secrets, yes he does. And Trinket _very_ fond of his step-daddy. Aren’t you, buddy?”

Trinket snorts his agreement, splattering their hands with hot, wet air. Cassandra’s brow creeps higher.

“‘Step-daddy?’” she echoes. “Are you suggesting that my brother’s adopted a bear?”

“Well…” Vex shrugs. “It’s only a joke.”

The unspoken ‘for now’ hangs between them, though the weight is less awkward than Vex might have feared. She gives Trinket’s haunches a pat and forges ahead before it can stretch too long – she’s learned that knowing when to speak is a key skill in the care and keeping of de Rolos.

“The point is, Trinket takes good care of his people. Whether that’s me, my brother, Percy, Keyleth, Grog…or you, darling. If you’d like.”

In affirmation, Trinket gives a low chuffing groan and flops into the grass, dropping his huge head into Cassandra’s lap. A paw tangles her skirts, which will definitely need cleaning later, but Cassandra doesn’t fuss. She’s gone quiet again, lost in thought as she strokes Trinket’s fur. She won’t admit that she wants this, that she needs it, but she does sigh.

“We really should talk soon. About…other things.”

The house. The title. The future. Percival. Whitestone.

Vex takes Cassandra’s hand – smaller than her own, but not by much – and gives it a squeeze. “We will,” she promises. “Later. But for now, what you need is a good listener.”

She settles the hand back into the warm fur, pats it, and stands. A single word in elvish is all Trinket needs to know that his job now is to stay with Cassandra and give her what she needs. He grunts his understanding and laps lazily at Cassandra’s hand. She doesn’t pull away.

And Vex slips away, gathering her practice bow and her quiver before quickly, quietly, making her way to clean up the distant targets. Cassandra is still there when she turns back, curled into Trinket’s side, a distant pile of blue cloth and painted lips, moving through whispered words that Vex wouldn’t dare to read.

A bit of privacy is the least she can offer her new sister, after all. At least for now.


End file.
